Morning Surprises
by Mistress Reigns
Summary: John really should've seen this coming. With the sudden rise in animal companionship in the roster, he should have expected something like this to happen. He should have just seen it coming but he doesn't see it coming and now he feels kind of like an idiot. Like a massive idiot who didn't see anything coming and Randy is going to laugh at him as soon as he wakes up.
1. Chapter One

John really should've seen this coming. With the sudden rise in animal companionship in the roster, he should have expected something like this to happen. He should have just _seen_ it coming but he doesn't see it coming and now he feels kind of like an idiot. Like a massive idiot who didn't see anything coming and Randy is going to laugh at him as soon as he wakes up.

They don't even have a dog, but the door still has a dog door because Randy insisted that they might have a dog some day and _really, it's just a good investment._ Good investment, John's ass. All the damned thing did was let in three furry monsters who are now warring for control of the living room. It's not even really fair because the little orange one with the crazy fur doesn't have a chance against the bigger brown monster of a thing. And then there's the sleek black one just watching from the back of the couch, tail swishing languidly through the air.

There are three fucking cats in his house, and he's kind of pissed about it. Not that he hates cats. Taker's cats are actually pretty well-behaved even if they are occasionally evil and steal things that aren't too heavy for them to carry. Seth is a sweetheart and damned near everyone backstage loves the little fur ball who defies gravity by leaping and bounding all over the backstage arena—under Roman's loving and watchful eye, of course. Damien is a very relaxed, almost elegant cat so he isn't so bad, either. And of course, Dean is a fucking sniper kitten. But that doesn't mean John wants a cat, much less _three_ cats and he is really pissed off about this.

This is all Randy's fault. Randy just had to have the dog door for the hypothetical, theoretical dog they still don't have after living together and being together for years. And he has to half-wonder if Randy maybe snuck the animals in at some point because he's really warmed up to Seth and Roman even calls Randy the kittens' uncles and that's just sappy and weird and John wants nothing to do with it. Besides, Dean still tries to pounce and claw his ankles regularly.

He scrubs a hand over his face and tells himself to just breathe because getting upset is not going to stop the kitten warfare going on in the house right now. Then he actually does take a breath and advance, trying to assess the situation before just diving right into it. How can he separate this giant brown menace from this little ginger without getting his hands sliced open in the process? He probably can't is the problem. But thankfully, the cats seem to realize he's watching them and the brown one finally lets off of the ginger, shaking out its incredibly long fur before settling back and looking up at John with astonishingly bright blue eyes. It meows at him.

The ginger isn't having any of that and tries to launch itself at the big brown cat again, but John surprises himself and catches it in mid-air, wincing when needle sharp claws dig into his skin. He growls when the kitten tries to wriggle free and stands straight, bringing it up to hold it against his chest like Roman showed him to do with Seth. Not that it does much good. The orange ball of fury continues to writhe for freedom and John can't tighten his hold much more because he'll risk hurting the damned thing. God, why does he even care? It isn't his cat. From how scruffy it looks, it's a stray cat and it probably has like seventeen diseases and fleas. Just gross.

"Would you just hold still for one second? Didn't you get your ass kicked enough? That thing was practically sitting on you." He holds the kitten up by the scruff of its neck, satisfied when it goes mostly limp, and tries checking over its small body for wounds. "Congratulations. I don't think you got bitten or scratched. Guess he just smacked you around a lot or something."

The cat on the back of the couch meows, and John turns and just stares at it before glaring.

"What the fuck are you doing in my house? You don't live here. _I_ live here. Where did you three even come from?" He seriously considers just throwing all three of them out right now.

"John." An amused voice from the stairs makes him groan. "John, are you talking to cats?"

He sighs and gives Randy a plaintive look as he returns to holding the ginger kitten against his chest, trying to smooth down its flyaway fur. That gets him a bite on the finger, but it's not particularly hard so he doesn't bother stopping. He just starts petting it again until it eventually settles down and starts purring even as it continues to watch the big brown cat with wary bright blue eyes. Randy joins him a moment later, stooping down and picking up the monster, which settles into his arms and rubs its head against his arm. _Oh, sure. Now you're all nice._

"To be fair, I was talking to the cats that invaded our home because of the dog door _you_ wanted to have installed that we don't have a dog before despite years of—" John starts.

Of course, Randy cuts him off. "They're in really good health for strays, it looks like."

"Why does that..?" John's eyes widen. "Orton, no. We are not adopting these cats. No, no, no—"

"I've always wanted a cat," Randy says, carrying the large brown thing into the kitchen.

John sighs and follows behind him, noting that the black cat jumps off the back of the couch and follows them as well, trailing right behind John like an unwanted shadow. When he reaches the kitchen, he's mildly surprised to see the large brown monster of a cat sitting on the island while Randy rifles through the fridge, licking a paw and washing its face with it. The ginger cat hisses at it and John honestly can't blame it because that cat is huge and he's half-convinced it might lie on his face one night and kill him because as everyone knows, cats are, in reality, really evil.

There's a reason all the rich, evil bastards in movies and cartoons always have one to pet.

Randy looks up at him when he rounds the island. "Do you think they can eat turkey?"

"We're going to feed them our turkey." _Because it's not enough you just adopted them._

"Sounds like a plan to me." Randy retrieves the package. "We have to take them to the vet."

John has to agree with that. "Yeah. Because when they show up with _any_ disease, they go."

Randy ignores him and John isn't even surprised. He leans his back against the counter and watches his boyfriend retrieve three small saucers from the cabinet—because the floor is apparently too good for these random stranger cats—and divide the turkey up among them. Almost silently, the black cat leaps up onto the island and sits down beside the brown one, curling his tail around his feet and looking up at John silently. Yeah, the vet. And then Randy will want to buy them things and name them and keep them and just _no._ John really, really hopes they all come up sick or parasite-ridden and he feels bad for even wanting that to happen.

He is annoyed when Randy sets a saucer down in front of either cat, alternating which one to pet as they dig into the meat. Wisely, John keeps the third saucer on the counter behind him and lets the little ginger eat there. He doesn't like any of these animals, but he's not going to let one of them starve because the biggest one beats up on it and steals its food. And he knows that the minute Randy turns his back, the giant brown cat would do just that to the little orange one.

"Come on," Randy says when the cats are done eating. "Go get dressed so we can go."

"I really hate you sometimes. Like, I love you and I always will, but I also really, _really_ hate you for making me adopt three cats," John informs him as he walks out of the kitchen.

Footsteps behind him make him realize he's being followed by one of the cats.

And now just _one_ of the cats but the massive brown monster who he stopped from probably killing the little orange one. He is extremely unnerved to find this giant thing following him.

But he goes upstairs and gets dressed, which for him really just means swapping out the t-shirt he slept in for a fresh one and throwing on a pair of jean shorts and socks. The brown cat sits in the doorway, watching his every move, and John seriously considers kicking it or something. But it's a cat and in the end, he just gets dressed, picks it up, and carries it downstairs to Randy.

"Your name," Randy says as soon as the cat is in sight, smoothing a hand down its back, "is Bray. And you." He kneels down and picks up the little ginger kitten. "You're Sheamus. And you." He glances back at the black cat, who has resumed its spot on the back of the couch. "You are Alberto. John, come on. Let's get them to the vet and get them checked out."

"We are not keeping them," John grumbles, trading the brown cat—Bray? Seriously? What the fuck kind of name is that?—for Sheamus and Alberto. Sheamus still seems wary of him, but Alberto just butts his head against John's jaw once before settling down.

Randy just gives him a look, and John sighs.

Okay. Maybe they are keeping them.

He is so going to fucking kill somebody for this, though.


	2. Chapter Two

_**Chapter Two**_

Their cats hate each other. Ironically, all three felines develop a seemingly deep hatred toward each other and John is somehow caught in the crossfire every. Single. Fucking. Time.

He really wishes they'd never kept the damn things half the time—okay, that's pretty much a giant lie at this point—but he does wish they didn't hate each other. It's taking a toll on him.

Alberto seemed so calm at first, too. So laidback and easy to get along with. Honestly, out of the three of them, John really did prefer him for a little while just because he didn't cause trouble. As it turns out, it was just a smokescreen so he could attack Bray and Sheamus at random moments when John and Randy were out of the room. He only knows this because he watched from the bedroom doorway once as Alberto chased Sheamus under the bed and pinned him there.

Which isn't fair, not in the least. Jesus, the little ginger hairball is hardly the size of John's hand and can't defend himself when he's still a baby. He can be a holy terror when he wants to be, though. And John now prefers him; he and the ginger cat have developed a relationship based solely on the fact John feels bad letting him get beat up and Sheamus occasionally needs help.

It actually has nothing to do with them liking each other. John doesn't like any of the cats.

He does have a new respect for Hunter, though. Granted, the guy is only putting up with _two_ cats right now while John has to juggle three, but he totally understands Hunter raving about Dean being a vicious little fuck but both kittens being overly sweet and adoring towards Roman.

"They're playing you, I swear to God," he says, feeling crazy just saying the words. "You can't trust them. They're just trying to trick you, Randy. You just don't know it yet."

Randy scoffs at him. "Alberto and Bray are perfectly sweet cats. What's wrong with you?"

_Wrong with me? You adopted three demon feline beasts from hell and something's wrong with me. Oh, okay then._ John shakes his head. The two of them are currently sitting together on the couch while Randy watches something on TV; John is too busy playing around on his tablet to pay much attention to the TV screen. Bray and Alberto are sprawled together in Randy's lap, playing nice with each other while Randy is in the room and willing to give both of them attention, while Sheamus is huddled against John's far leg where he's safe from the others.

John absently pets his messy, flyaway fur that somehow always seems stuck-up in a weird, spiky way unless he gets wet and then it flattens down. Even though Sheamus doesn't like him, the kitten still presses up into the touch appreciatively and mewls, sounding rather happy with the arrangement. It's only because Randy is otherwise occupied and they both know it, but John is willing to play along if only for the sake of his own sanity.

Randy catches him petting Sheamus and smiles broadly. "At least you're getting along with one of the cats. Every time I turn around, he's sitting with you somewhere. So don't grouse me about the damned things when you've gone ahead and gotten attached, too. I'm going to get something to drink. Would you like something or you do want to complain some more?"

"Both, if you don't mind." Randy gives him a look and John heaves a sigh at him. "Fine, yes, please and thank you for the drink." He still shoots Randy's back a dirty look as the other man leaves the room, then fixes his eyes on where Alberto and Bray are now sitting on the couch.

Sheamus tenses up against his leg and John honestly feels so bad for the little guy, but there's nothing much he can do about this situation. Other than protect the little orange kitten, and so far he's done a decent job at that. Every time one of the others attacks him and John hears, he quickly separates it and gets Sheamus out of harm's way before he can get truly hurt.

Bray meows up at him and John just narrows his eyes. "Fuck off. I'm not Randy. I know better."

Still, Bray inches closer and rubs his head against John's hand, looking like an innocent cat asking for pets when John knows better. He _knows_ better and yet he's so focused on making sure Bray doesn't suddenly pounce over his lap to attack Sheamus that he doesn't notice the creeping black creature slinking behind his neck until it drops down by his arm and startles the hell out of him. Sheamus squeaks in terror and John has approximately one second to realize Alberto has snuck around him to get to Sheamus before the larger black cat pounces. No, he's not having any of this shit. He gets a hand in the fur at the back of Alberto's neck and wrenches him up, throwing him into Bray just for good measure and ignoring their grumbles as they untangle themselves. Hell, he doesn't even _like_ Sheamus but it still hurts his heart a little to feel the smaller animal shaking against his leg and mewling lowly. He wonders if the other two followed Sheamus into the house to bully him or if they were staking it out as theirs when he came in.

When Randy returns, he passes John a cold can of Coke and sits back down, Bray and Alberto curling up in his lap as before. Trying to be as casual about it all as possible, John announces he's trading the tablet for the laptop upstairs so he can preferably listen to some music while he's messing around. He's happy Randy doesn't make a comment about the fact he picks up Sheamus and carries him upstairs with him, closing the bedroom door behind him just in case.

He sets Sheamus down on the bed and smoothes a hand down his back, listening to the kitten almost begrudgingly purr at the sensation. "You don't have to like me, I promise. I'm just tired of watching them beat the piss out of you for no reason whatsoever. What'd you do to them?"

Sheamus mewls up at him, and John supposes the cat is actually answering his question—which disturbs him because now cats can apparently understand human English—but he can't understand it anyway. Oh well. Might as well get back to screwing around sometime, right?

"You just stay here," he says, lowering himself down into the rolling chair positioned in front of the desk. "Stay on the bed and don't get yourself killed, all right? Or at least give me a warning they've somehow managed to break in and we'll go from there. I promise."

Sheamus cocks his head and John just gives up trying since he's half-sure the cat doesn't really understand English anyway. Which makes it all the more pathetic and sad he's trying to communicate with Sheamus, but so be it. It's too bad the cat can't speak English or else he might be able to tell John why Bray and Alberto seem to enjoy beating him up so much.

He gets the laptop turned on and has brought up a random website of flash player games because he doesn't really have anything else to do when it happens. Out of nowhere, Sheamus suddenly plops down on the desk beside him and meows, clearly wanting attention. Which would probably be cute to anyone but John, who never really wanted the cats in the first place. He frowns down at the kitten, who mewls up at him and rolls onto his back, batting at the air above him in a way what's probably supposed to be playful. John isn't following for it, so he just ignores Sheamus and plugs his headphones into the jack so he can get started playing a pointless game.

Before he can pick one, a small, furry head butts at the back of his hand and he glares down to find inquisitive blue eyes peering up into his. Well, then. But not today. He pushes Sheamus away from the laptop, ignoring his truly pitiful whine, then goes back to eyeing the games uncertainly. _Have I played this one already, or am I just confusing it with a—_

Sheamus is having none of it and crawls onto the keyboard, smashing his overgrown feet down onto the keys as he does. Sighing, John leans back in his seat and watches the kitten curl up, looking quite pleased with himself as he looks up at John, and is the fucking cat _smirking_ at him? Of course not. Cats can't do that. _But I guarantee they would do it if they could, little fucks._

"You need to get off of the computer before you kill it," he days after a beat.

Instead of complying, Sheamus just settles down and closes his eyes as if he fully intends to take a nap on the keyboard. Which he isn't going to do because John is not having any of this.

"Come on. No." He nudges Sheamus away, ignoring the little indignant mewls he receives.

And he doesn't even bother putting up a fight when Sheamus takes residence on his shoulder.

He almost thinks about swatting him off, just because he can and Randy isn't here to yell at him for being overly rough, but Sheamus settles down quietly after a minute or two. And even if he _really_ hates having his shoulder used as a pillow, he decides to put up with it if only for the time being because Sheamus is not being a nuisance and Alberto and Bray can sneak attack him here.

And if he starts petting Sheamus's tiny, fragile head while he waits for the games to load, secretly enjoying making the little kitten mewl and purr in his ear, so be it. Randy isn't in the room to witness his exploits, and he will never have to admit to them ever again.

Besides, the last thing he wants is for Randy to think this means they can get more.

* * *

**_A/N: Kitten Sheamus is my favorite thing in the world. Poor baby getting attacked by Bray and Alberto—strangely, that's about the only canon thing about this._**


End file.
